


You wasted all your chances

by red375



Series: Firelight [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brienne is much less forgiving, F/M, Kid Fic, Other, Past Relationship(s), Pining, despite my WIP, heres to not moving on, i swear this has different plot, im a bit behind the times on s8 fic, jaime lannister is an idiot, sort of arranged marriage, yet another post s8 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-23 07:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red375/pseuds/red375
Summary: Jaime betrayed Brienne, and now he wants to marry her.Brienne doesn’t particularly want to marry the man who broke her heart. She doesn’t trust his love, and she can’t forgive him. Her kindness is gone, her patience is at an end, and she might want vengeance. Or something.This work is relatively finished, updates will be regular. Summary isn't great, trying to avoid spoilers.





	1. Chapter 1

She doesn’t agree at first. It takes quite some time for them to persuade her. 

Tyrion begins by begging her. Actually, he begins by barging into her rooms uninvited, demanding wine, and ordering her to sit so he won’t have to crane his neck to see her. Then he begins his spiel. Had he been born to merchants Tyrion could have bargained his customers into buying cockroaches. His pretty words suit him just as well as a politician. Or matchmaker, as the case may be.

“He’s miserable, my lady. Despondent really. He deeply grieves the loss of your friendship.” Tyrion cajoles.

“I doubt I am the woman he is grieving”

“He regrets his actions. He wishes he could change things – I believe if he went back he would make different choices.”

“That is odd, Lord Tyrion.”

“Why?”

“Because you see, I believe he would choose that path again if he could. Except perhaps, for a few changes to the night after the battle.” Brienne feels the clutch in her chest that comes with remembering that time.

Tyrion looks conflicted, afraid to express his agreement, when surely he knows as well as she does that Jaime would never have stayed with her. He decides to address the first point.

“For the sake of the babe, surely you understand?”

“I do. For the child, and its mother, his lover. I also understand very well that he did not tell me of it, nor inform me when he decided to depart.”

“He was trying to protect you. And yes, perhaps he would not have gone to you after the battle, but so as to wait for the opportunity to marry you.” Tyrion is pleading now.

“Find another woman to accept the Kingslayer, Tyrion. I will not.” Brienne is firm.

“My brother is not inconstant with his affections. He will not accept another.”

“You are correct. His affections have never wavered. And he will not love anyone but her.” Jaime is faithful. She knows that. She just thought he might be faithful to her.

“You are wrong.”

“He does love you.” She admits grudgingly. He has risked his life for Tyrion as much as Cersei. He has not, however, committed quite as many hateful acts in Tyrion’s name. Tyrion never asked him to.

Tyrion startles a little at that. Is he as surprised as her to be told he is loved? He recovers quickly though, and presses his advantage. “He loves you. You could be happy together.”

Brienne is surprised to see he is sincere. It matters not whether Tyrion believes he loves her. Truthfully, it does not matter even if he does love her. He did not love her enough, he did not love her more, and he left her.

“The chance for our happiness _together _is long since gone, if it ever existed in the first place.”

This is not the last time Tyrion attempts to persuade her. It does not surprise her when he continues to try. What surprises her is the number of people who take his side.

Gilly and Sam, who have been treating him (and the baby) also seem to think that they should marry. Apparently his constant moaning, complaints of how the gods hate him, and long episodes of staring out the window have charmed them. Gilly waxes on about how romantic he is, how much he praises Brienne whenever she asks for tales of their adventures, how often he asks about her, how desperately sad he is.

Sam says “You are lucky to have a man who loves you so much.”

Brienne tires of informing people he does not. She says nothing. Even Podrick seems to believe this lie Jaime has convinced so many people of.

“He does look very sad, Ser.”

“There are reasons enough for that, Pod.”

“He was happy at winterfell.” Pod speaks earnestly over her scowl. “I wouldn’t bring it up, only“

“Spit it out.”

“You were happy too. At winterfell, I mean. When he knighted you. And after”

“That is enough, Podrick.” Pod, bless him, falls silent and does not broach the topic again. Unlike others.

Her conversation with Bronn was mostly swear words and innuendos she wishes she understood less of. She did manage to grasp the fact that he believes they should fuck, in order to stop the moping, so he can have his drinking buddy back. He finds marriage being a prerequisite to this amusing, but believes they should get on with it. 

Her father, whose fixation on marriage and grandchildren she loathes, is tentatively excited at the thought of her marrying (if it is to be the Kingslayer, at least he’s the Lord of Casterly Rock). He writes cautious words of support and encouragement that Brienne can easily see through. He also mentions a song about a bear pit and a fair maiden that he heard sung in a tavern. Brienne has heard the song too. She loathes it. 

Arya is in favour of murdering him. Sansa agrees that is a decent option, but recommends she marry him first, to inherit his lands. Afterwards she can kill him, if she wishes. Or rule in his name. Everyone comments how different the Stark sisters are, in personality and looks. Brienne cannot comment on looks, but she wonders if their younger selves would be horrified at how alike they are now. Both in their capacity for vengeance, violence, and the fact that they share it. The North remembers its grudges. Brienne does as well. Renly, Stannis, Catelyn and Sansa would testify that she doesn’t let go of her convictions easily.

Bran suggests she wear blue for her wedding gown, remarking that it will bring out her eyes. She finds this not a bit creepy, and Sansa flinches. When she asks whether he has seen her wedding day, he merely smiles mysteriously, and says if she does have one, he looks forward to meeting her daughter. Regardless of the father, he adds. At that, Brienne walks away.

Jon is perhaps the only one against the idea. Not for her sake, which hurts more than she expects, but for the child’s. He remembers well what growing up as a sign of a husband’s betrayal is like, with a wife who cannot hate the man she loves.

He looks at her with those solemn Stark eyes “I ask only that you love the child as much as your husband.”

“Then I will not love it at all.” She responds.

He looks at her, and she hates it, the look of pitying incredulity at her protests. She hates the way they all believe that she will eventually give in.

Tyrion tries again, this time foregoing politeness. “You need an heir, do you not? You are still the lady of Tarth, if not the maid anymore.” Tyrion slips into insults as his temper does.

Brienne prefers this approach over his appeal to her feelings, which weigh and stick in her mind. Insults she can respond to with fury. “Should I accept him simply because he is the only one who wants me? Because that, my lord, is not the case.”

“None of those men who ask for your hand and your island love you. Is your pride too much for you to find forgiveness for one who does?”

“You never asked if I love him.” He is so concerned with what is best for Jaime. She suspects he does not care much for her. Or thinks she is not good enough for his brother.

“Do you?”

“If I did I’d still be a fool to marry him.”

“So you do.”

She stares out the window instead of answering. She is sick of loving men who do not love her in the same fashion. She wishes she could just stop, or leave. 

“Damn your stubborn pride.”

“Lannisters should not speak of pride.”

“Why will you not marry him? Or at least speak to him? Do you insist on being the only one he loves? Do you want to own him, mind, body and soul? Cersei did, and I did not think to see any of her in you.”

She doesn’t know exactly what she wants, but it is not this. Big, ugly, loyal, dependable Brienne. A travelling bard once posed a riddle: if the building was on fire, what would you save? There is no one whose answer to that question is _Brienne. _Podrick and her father would assume she could take care of herself, because she is big and strong. Pod would save the Starks, as she taught him. The Starks would save each other. Jaime would save his sister, if she still lived, and child.

There’s the fact: Jaime would only choose Brienne if his sister was dead. He lied, and he left. She cannot trust him. He’ll be loyal to the crown, of that she still has faith in him. But she can never trust him to be loyal to her. Is it so selfish to want someone who will love her more than anything? All the pretty girls are allowed to want that. 

“I want a man who will put me first. Who will stay loyal by my side. A husband I can trust.” Her voice breaks midway, and she closes her eyes in mortification.

Tyrion pauses before replying, giving her a moment to recover. She is grateful for this kindness.

When he speaks, his voice is gentler than she has ever heard it. “Jaime would be that man, my lady. If you give him another chance.”

She shakes her head rapidly, unable to speak. Her heart is pounding as if it wants to leap out of her chest. She knows that she should settle for this, for marrying Jaime. That everyone (even Sansa) believe this is the best chance she has. But she cannot marry him, and they don't seem to understand when she explains why. If she could just explain why, maybe they’d stop pestering her, and giving her those pitying glances. 

She is rocking back and forth in her chair now, unable to calm herself. Her fingers twitch in the air, and she needs to move. She gets up abruptly and paces to the other side of the room, before changing direction to her bedroom, then stopping in the center of the room. She grabs her sword, and longs to swing it at something. Tyrion stands staring at her. He looks worried.

“My lady, I have upset you. I am sorry. I will not bother you again.”

Brienne barely hears the words.

\------------------------------------------------------

She is working at her desk – the realm is a cesspool of problems, and the work never seems to cease. Then she hears a knock, and she sighs. It’d better not be Bronn. Or more papers. She can’t think of anyone she like to see right now.

But it’s _him_

“Might I speak with you, Lady Brienne?”

The lack of demand in his voice is startling, he asks so tentatively. She realizes that if she tells him to leave now, he will. But to do so would be to show him that she still cares enough to be upset.

“Yes. About what?” She keeps herself as impersonable as possible.

He sits nervously and twists his hands in his lap. “I heard some of the Stark men talking in the street the other day. They called you some rude names.”

“I’ve heard them. Was it the _Kingslayer’s Whore_?” Her words are light, but from his expression she has not kept the hurt from her face. Her cheeks color with embarrassment. The names are bad enough, but others hearing them, especially him, is far more humiliating.

He ignores her question. “I interceded on your behalf, of course.”

Brienne interrupts. “That will only make the rumours worse. You have no right to imply a claim on me.”

“I did nothing of the sort! And would it be so bad if I did?” He does not understand why she is upset at him for defending her honor. “Would it be so bad, marrying me?”

“Clearly you have not listened to the reasons I gave your brother, Gilly, and everyone else you’ve enlisted.” She is relieved to find her voice is still steady.

“I would like to put forth some reasons of my own.” Evidently, he has decided being logical is the best approach. Brienne clearly does not trust her emotions or her heart at the moment. The weight on his shoulders increases fractionally as he is crushed, again, by the realization that this is his fault. “It would put an end to these rumours. It would be a good political match, binding the East and West. We will both need to marry at some point, and there are few other options.” He states the last part as delicately as possible. 

“That is your best argument. No one else will have us, so we shall be miserable together? You, Lord Lannister, can easily find another woman to marry. I might have more difficulty, but I’d find someone.” She attempts a sneer.

“I’ve been disinherited, actually.”

She pauses at that. If he is disinherited, they would be retiring to her home, not his. She would not have to face the scorn of the Ladies of the Westerlands, or find a place in an unfamiliar land. It would also, she muses, leave her free of the obligation of providing multiple heirs. She wonders briefly if he offers only for her island, and her protection. After all, he will need a safe place to raise his child. That, at least, she cannot deny him. Truthfully, she never could deny him her protection, not since Harrenhal.

“Please, Brienne.” He is begging now. If she refuses him, what can he do? Hope that he might prove himself enough that she agrees. There is little hope of that, if she will not allow him to be near her. “I am sorry I ever left you, I did it only because I could not live with myself if I didn’t try. I swear to you, I will be loyal to you. Please, just give me another chance.”

There are a whole host of reasons why she won’t marry him. He’s cruel, and he’s proven he doesn’t care if he hurts her. He only cares for his family. He will leave her again soon. He comes with a bastard attached. But mostly, she cannot trust him to love her.

“I love you.” He says, and his voice breaks. “Please” Tears glimmer in his eyes.

All the voices in her head, all the clever people she knows urge her to say yes. She doesn’t know why she still doubts, or why she stands in the way of her own happiness. Perhaps because it is safer. Perhaps because the last time she tried for more she was hurt. But, she reminds herself, Brienne of Tarth is not a coward, and Brienne of Tarth cannot allow herself to be afraid. So she simply says

“Yes.” And immediately curses herself a fool for being swayed.

“Really?” He looks astonished. A smile starts to wrinkle the corners of her mouth, although tears still well in his eyes. Tears of happiness, now.

“And my son? You will allow him to be raised on Tarth?” She cannot begrudge him his first thought for his son, only she does and scolds herself for it. She rushes onwards.

“I’ll claim it was mine, conceived before the Battle of Winterfell. It can be legitimized as part of the wedding ceremony.”

“Arthur. His name is Arthur. Why?”

“It is possible I cannot have children, a woman such as myself. As everyone has so eloquently pointed out to me, I need an heir.”

His earlier happiness deflates at her brusque tone. “Brienne. Are you marrying me for … “ He stops and starts again “Do you love me?” 

She does not _want_ to love him. She nods cautiously, unwilling to admit it out loud, and finds herself swept up in an embrace. She startles backwards, and he reaches for her hand, gently kissing it. His lips are warm, and she resists the urge to bring her hand to her cheek. Like a foolish maid, being courted by a knight_._

He is babbling a stream of consciousness. _I love you, you can trust me, Thank you, Thank you … _He cups her face in his hands deliberately, knowing they both remember the last time. His callouses are rough on her cheek, and she wants to pull them away before he says anything that will make her question. Instead, she lifts her chin high and forces herself to meet his eyes.

He holds her gaze for a moment that seems to stretch on forever, looking at her the same way he looked whenever they parted. Is this love?

His voice is rough and shaky when he finally speaks. “I promise you Brienne. I will not leave you. I will stay loyal, and I will love you until the end of my days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is likely the happiest chapter ending of this work. 
> 
> A brief rant which is longer than the chapter:  
I think the show messed up Jaime’s character development pretty much from season 4 onwards (I’d guess that’s common opinion around here). They might have put him back on track post season 6 but instead chose to keep him in King’s Landing, mostly so they could be lazier with Cersei’s scenes. On rewatch (skipping s8e4-6) it surprised me how much of her scenes in season 7 are her manipulating Jaime, or using herself as a trophy for Euron as opposed to dealing with politics and generally morphing into a despicable tyrant. The idea of Cersei being a mother, and caring deeply about her children was also pushed quite a bit – it was a theme in earlier seasons, but it became all she was in later ones (the pregnancy was a stupid plot point, and her deliberately manipulating Jaime with it was an idiotic ex-girlfriend cliché). Cersei is allowed to be evil and want power in her own right! & I will fight to defend that right, and her right to a properly gruesome demise! I would say it was born out of the writer’s inability to write woman, but they didn’t write any character that wasn’t one note (re: Jon Snow). 
> 
> To be honest, I am not sure the show could have pulled off a realistic/ satisfying version of Jaime succeeding in his redemption/ leaving Cersei arc by the final season. There is a world of difference between the two pivotal moments in the book and the show. In the books, he throws Cersei’s letter into the fire and it is implied he will be going with Brienne. In the show, he leaves Brienne on a suicide mission to die with Cersei. 
> 
> All of that is to say, that is why Brienne is so conflicted about marrying Jaime. Because he never really chose her. She deserves Jaime, if she wants him, but she deserves someone she can trust, and Jaime has not been that person.


	2. Chapter 2

They marry in Northern style, in the Godswood on Tarth. Jaime has had enough of Septs, and Brienne decides to show her respect for the Old Gods of the Starks, especially given the King will be in attendance. He claims with some interest that he wants to see what happens when Brienne asks why; more bits of Bran seem to be emerging from the Three-Eyed-Raven each day. Sansa, Arya and Jon will also be in attendance, stopping on their journeys north and west. Unfortunately, thanks to Tarth’s proximity to King’s Landing half the nobles are also coming. Jaime invited all of them.

She does not talk much with Jaime in the wake of their betrothal. The date is set within the fortnight, and there is far too much to do (at least, that is what Brienne tells herself). He acts the part of a devoted love well enough for the court.

Her reunion with her father is not an emotional affair. She loves him, and he is a better father than most get, but she was always closer with Goodwin, the Master at Arms. Her father was distant in the wake of her mother’s death, and Brienne disapproved of his string of lovers. She thinks they both lost faith in each other the day he betrothed her to a man older than him. Her the moment Ser Humfrey Wagstaff was presented, and him the moment she broke Ser Humfrey’s bones. After that they decided to let each other be.

The wedding ceremony itself is bearable. Her father walks her through the Godswood and gives her hand to Jaime, who wraps it up tightly in his own. Jaime speaks his part, she says _I will take this man _and their hands are bound together. She remembers being relieved to hear the ceremony does not require a kiss. 

The feast afterwards is torture. She stands by Jaime’s side as he smiles happily to each noble that comes to congratulate them. She watches the confused expression on their faces as they look at her and wonder how he ended up forced into marrying her. One woman, as she presents a gift, goes so far as to grasp his hand gently, and tell him that if there is anything else he needs, he can ask her. Jaime looks at Brienne for a reaction, and Brienne turns her head away. She wants his loyalty, but she will not enforce it. Or it would not be true loyalty. When she looks back after the woman leaves, his smile has faded.

Her dress is a handmade gift from Sansa. She would have preferred armour, but she would not like to waste Sansa’s effort, and her appearance invites enough scorn. She would like as little laughter as possible during the ceremony. She knows she still looks ridiculous. Her handmaids offered, but she refused to look at in the mirror (one of the benefits of her septa being gone was the removal of mirrors). She gave up her childish fondness for twirling skirts long ago, and knows the prettiest dress can only make her plain. The beautiful gown is a waste of fabric on her. Jaime does not comment on her appearance, for which she is grateful. She does not want to wonder if he lies.

Everyone is drinking and laughing. Jaime is talking to Tyrion; as she watches he throws back his head and peals of mirth echo around the room. The room is crowded, loud and full of smiling people. Brienne cannot seem to force a smile to her face. She looks around for a conversation to join, and meets no eyes. The desperate feeling of loneliness rises, and she finds herself fighting back tears. She shoves back her goblet and slips out of the room. 

She pauses just inside the corridor and waits to see if anyone notices she has left. It isn’t that she wants company (right now she wants to be alone), but she wants someone to notice. Perhaps it is unreasonable, when she deliberately attempted to leave quietly. Yet no one has noticed the bride leaving her own wedding.

She breathes in shakily, forcing down the lump rising in her throat. Brienne climbs the steps to her quarters, stopping when she hears a faint gurgle. She walks into the nursery, and there is the baby, swallowed up by blankets in the large crib.

He blows a bubble, which explodes with a soft pop against his cheek. Brienne sinks into the stool beside the crib. His little arms reach up for her and Brienne extends a finger for him to grasp. Arthur waves her finger around, and Brienne remembers Jon’s words. _Try to love the babe_.

“He wants you to pick him up.” She startles, and almost pulls her finger from Arthur’s hold. He whines, and reaches up again more urgently. Jaime is standing in the doorway, his face lost in the shadows.

“Can I?” She has never held a child before. The idea scares her.

“He is your son, is he not?” His voice is low and tender. She hasn’t heard that voice much. Arthur was officially declared her legitimate offspring (and the heir to Tarth) a few hours ago. By law, he is her son. She hadn’t realized what that meant.

She picks Arthur up, cradling his head in the corner of her elbow. He is warmer and heavier than she imagined. He feels so fragile. She supresses a flash of fear at what might happen if she drops him and instead rocks gently back and forth. Arthur rolls slightly in her arms, turning his face into her chest. She realizes he is asleep, and looks up at Jaime for instructions on what to do next.

Jaime has stepped into the moonlight, and the expression on his face is indescribable. It reminds her of the night he knighted her. He kisses her softly, his breath warm against her cheeks, and then the babe. He gently extracts the sleeping child from her arms and eases him into the crib. 

“Shall we go to bed as well, my lady?” He asks, extending a hand.

Brienne wants to stay with Arthur. She does not want to face Jaime, but she looks at his face again and heat rises through her stomach. Goosebumps rise on her arm as she reaches forward to take his arm. 

He undresses her in silence, stopping to gently place kisses on each bit of exposed flesh. As if she were still a maid. Then he is leading her backwards until her thighs hit the bed and she falls slowly backwards, his weight settling over her, parting her legs. When it is all over, he collapses atop her, nuzzling at her neck, whispering pretty endearments against her skin.

He rolls to the side and sleepily pulls her against him. She waits until the puffs of air on her neck become regular, and then slips out of bed to clean herself. He does not wake, but sleeps heavily. She wonders that he sleeps so soundly – in Winterfell he would toss and turn all night. Perhaps he was already planning his departure.

She looks over at him sleeping peacefully on the bed and feels a sudden surge of anger. How dare he? How dare he crawl into her bed again like he never left. She slips quietly out of his room into hers, then into the last room where she felt some sort of peace.

She doesn’t think she can hate the baby. It has, technically, done nothing wrong. She can however, be furious at him, no matter how many times she tells herself he was obligated to try and save his sister, that he made her no promises. No matter how many times he tells her he loves her. Both sets of words ring false, because he betrayed her, and she cannot believe him.

She cannot forgive him yet. She should not have married him. She has vowed to stand by his side for the rest of her life. She has chained him to her, and she will always fear him leaving; she almost hopes he does so soon to spare her the pain. She will have to bear the scorn of the nobility, the misery of him leaving, and the jealous ire when he takes a mistress (she is still jealous of Cersei, and the woman is dead in childbirth two months ago).

She does not want the shame she has felt at never being good enough for the rest of her life. The sea air blows in from the window.

She had considered this option, after she said yes. She tried to convince herself that she should be grateful to have a life with the man she loves and an heir for her island. But she cannot trust Jaime, and she is not ready to forgive him. This night has shown her that much.

She takes off her ring that marks her the heir of Tarth, and ties it on a ribbon to Arthur’s wrist. Quietly, carefully, so as to not wake the slumbering man, she gathers a sack of clothing, and the pouch of money she hoarded when she plotted to run away as a girl. She stops by the kitchens for food, petting the old spit dog on her way.

Then she walks out the secret passageway, and leaves.

She is standing at the harbour, determining which boat will take her away when a figure appears in front of her. The dark shadow resolves herself into Arya Stark. Arya looks her up and down.

“I thought you wanted to marry him, and be a lady.”

“I just … not now.” Brienne manages. “I can’t … I need to” She shakes her head in despair.

“I understand.” Arya says, and Brienne feels a great swell of relief at the realization that Arya really does, and she doesn’t have to explain herself while someone else stares at her like she is stupid and her arguments are meaningless, because _love_. Arya simply accepts, because she too has made decisions no one understands. 

“Would you like passage to Pentos?” Is all Arya says before walking away.

Brienne follows her, boarding the boat. As the ship sails away, she helps the sailors hoist the sail, and resolutely does not look back at Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> \- If you would prefer the really angsty ending, stop reading here (or after next chapter, which is from Jaime’s perspective)  
\- So I know Brienne is a good, kind person, but I am most definitely not, and I really wanted to write something where she isn’t very forgiving, and gets a bit of revenge.
> 
> Side note which does not at all relate to this fic:  
\- Sansa is Warden of the North not Queen (I understand that Sansa wants northern independence and has good reason not to trust the south, but rejecting dragons …). The North probably benefits a lot from trade with the south, and wasn’t the whole point of the war against the dead supposed to be them uniting? Also, not relevant to the plot of this fic, but she did not act like a petty teenager while Daenerys arrived at Winterfell. At that point Daenerys had done literally nothing, and even if she had why would Sansa unnecessarily antagonize someone offering help? Not sure why the showrunners tried to pass that off as clever; it was only clever if you knew the ending, and possibly not even then (irritate a madwoman – great plan). Cleverness does not equal being rude/ an asshole. And that’s my two cents.


	3. Chapter 3

**Brienne POV**

Brienne is enjoying Pentos.

It is so different from Westeros. She walks around the city each day, staring at all the bright wares, and marveling at the architecture. Here, where summer rarely leaves, there is no need for dark, enclosed, fortress rooms and soot spewing fireplaces. She soaks up the languages, and practices new fighting styles. 

She is renting a small room above a seamstress. It is barren, at first. She buys practical items, and no more than will fit into a saddle bag, but the room gradually fills with colour. A bright blue blanket, woven like waves on the sea. A fine golden saddlebag, with a bright silver buckle that gleams when light shines in the window. A beautifully carved wooden cup (she looked wistfully at the glass goblets, but settled on the sturdier material). 

She is almost ashamed to admit that she enjoys the lack of responsibilities most. For years, she has thought of nothing of duty, for her family and her liege. Now she has no liege, and her family is safe. After a couple weeks, the novelty wears, and she feels the urge to work.

She gains employment teaching the daughters of one of the wealthy merchants fighting, and first witnesses the darker side of the city, freed of her rose tinted outsider gaze. Amid the beautiful gardens, men and woman in copper collars bustle about, forbidden to drink the clear water destined for the glorious blooms. Slavery, she had heard, was not permitted in the Free Cities. As it is everywhere, it seems that the rules are different for the elite.

The woman who owns the shop is named Millie, and Brienne thinks they are becoming friends. Lately they drink tea, and sometimes stronger stuff of an evening. Millie embroiders a tunic for Brienne, and Brienne buys her a new dagger.

One day, Brienne comes across a Dothraki harassing a woman in her usual inn. She cracks his skull against the countertop. The next day, he shows up with friends, and Brienne prepares for a fight. Instead, she is handed a braid of hair with silver bells, and the reigns to a beautiful brown mare. One of the other men offers a beautiful golden vase, which she refuses.

After her refusal, an old Dothraki woman comes over to talk to her. The woman explains how Pentos used to live in fear of the horde. Now, all their warriors have been lost to the dragon queen’s conquest, and the tributes grow smaller. She grins toothily as she states that they have different ways of living now. They no longer survive by taking what they wish. She is now khal, not khaleesi, just like the dragon. If Brienne ever wishes, they would welcome her as a bloodrider.

The diminishing fear of Dothraki raids is leading to increasing discontent with the rulers of the city. Now, they have no reasons to demand the wealth of the people, yet they still do, and they still live in luxury. The issue of servant-slaves is raised.

Brienne quietly offers to train the servants in fighting, if they wish to learn. Some accept. One offers her pamphlets to hand out instead of violence. A quiet rebellion is brewing. In the end, most of the merchants gather their wealth and flee before riots break out. A new city council rules, but at least they ban collars.

Brienne decides it is time to move on. There is more of the world she wishes to see. When the khalasar leaves, she leaves with them, after a tearful goodbye to Millie.

She misses home sometimes, if she is being honest. With each passing day and mile away, her rage and bitterness diminish and she finds herself recalling the more fond memories. But she is not yet ready to go back. Tarth is nice to think of as a place she can always return to, and she will, someday. 

For now, maybe she’ll volunteer her services as a sellsword, guarding a caravan from city to city. Maybe she’ll make a living teaching young woman to wield a blade. Maybe she’ll visit each of the great city states, or all the kingdoms in Westeros. Or maybe she’ll keep riding east across the great grass plain, she thinks as she spurs her horse forward.

**Jaime POV**

_Before the wedding_

“For reasons known only to himself, the King has pardoned you. A full pardon, but your dismissal from the Kingsguard holds.” He will regain his lordship, then.

“Can’t blame him not wanting to test his chances of surviving a second attempt on his life by me. Can you abdicate a lordship? Or disinherit yourself?”

“You want to be disinherited?” Tyrion is sceptical.

“I am disinherited. Father stated as much.” Shortly before you killed him, he thinks but does not add.

“You know full well he did not formally do so. He would never do that to his favorite child.” Tyrion slips into his old bitter self. Tyrion has always longed for the Rock, which may be why he cannot understand that Jaime does not.

“I don’t want the Rock. You do, and you would manage it far better than I ever could.”

“Do you not want a secure home for your child?”

“Would you not allow your brother to share your home?” The babe is barely a month old, born amidst the ashes of King’s Landing. Already he frets over its future. But he has had the Lord of Casterly Rock as a father, and the experience was not one he wants for his son.

Tyrion sighs. “Jaime, I worry you have nothing to occupy your time with.”

“I am taking care of a baby. He requires constant attention.”

“No, he does not. He spends plenty of time with the wet-nurse, and napping. You cannot stay confined in your room forever, with only a baby for company. It will drive you mad, and your son deserves better than to be used as a coping mechanism.”

“What are you purposing? A seat on the small council?” 

“That you purpose to your Lady. She still loves you, you know.”

“_Ser _Brienne, from the conversations you recounted, will not be swayed based on that.” He sighs. “That’s why I cannot be Lord Lannister.”

“What?” Tyrion splutters.

“It’s true. I never wanted it.” He grimaces. Gods, he sounds like Jon Snow. “And you would be much better at it.” Tyrion almost nods before catching himself. “But Brienne wants to be Lady of Tarth, and she does not want to live the rest of her days at the Rock. So I must go to Tarth.”

“Do you mean to present giving up your birthright as a sign of your devotion? Do you think that was what she meant when she requested a man who puts her first?”

“I’d give anything up for her, if she asked.” Tyrion frowns. “What? You were the one attempting to talk her into marrying me.”

“Don’t give up yourself for her, Jaime.” Tyrion raises his hand to stop Jaime’s protest. “I know. She would never ask that of you. You know you’re going to have to do more than give up something you never wanted to regain her trust?”

“Yes. I am not even sure I can ask anything of her. If I were a good man, I wouldn’t.”

“You are a good man. Brienne is a good woman, who deserves your loyalty. You would be happy together.”

“I’d argue the first point. But I love her, I want her and I can’t bear to spend the rest of my life without her. Or watch some other man make her smile each day.” Jaime winces. “That is what kind of man I am Tyrion. I cannot wish her happiness unless it is with me. The one redeeming fact I can find about all this is that she was happy with me, and she loved me. Or perhaps it is not redeeming, because else I might be able to convince myself to leave her alone.”

\--------------------------------------

Jaime registers vaguely that Brienne is uncomfortable, but he cannot stop smiling. It is his wedding day, after all. He is finally being allowed to marry the woman he loves. Brienne looks radiant in her blue wedding dress (he must remember to _try _and be nice to Sansa Stark for next few days), his brother is by his side and his son is safe.

He isn’t drinking, because Brienne worried for weeks after that first night that she was a drunken mistake. He does not want her to think that this marriage was a mistake.

Thoughts which have been plaguing him for weeks; of Cersei, regrets at his past decisions and worry over the state of his relationship with Brienne, can finally be put out of his mind. Cersei is dead, and Brienne loves him. He knows he must still work for Brienne’s forgiveness, and he intends to, but all is finally well.

He is floating so high among the clouds, that he barely looks at the guests congratulating him. He prefers to gaze at his wife (his _wife!_) instead. When a particularly forward woman latches her claws around his hand he dismisses her with a chuckle, and looks to Brienne for a reaction. She is looking away a resigned expression on her face, ignoring the interaction. Surely she cannot trust him so little? Perhaps it is jealousy that sours her expression.

He wishes he could ask her to dance, but the great hall is crowded with feast tables. He vows that someday he will dance with her until all thoughts of Renly are driven from her mind. 

He is laughing as Tyrion makes a ribald joke about the bedding ceremony, when he notices Brienne in the corner of his eye, leaving the room. Tyrion follows his gaze to the empty high table, and Jaime smiles. “I think my bride has decided there will be no bedding ceremony tonight.”

He follows her, winding his way through the maze of corridors to their rooms. He stops in astonishment when he sees her in the nursery, playing with their son. When she holds Arthur, he gazes on in marvel at the picture before him. He feels faint and wonders if your heart can burst from being too full. He has an overwhelming urge to gather both of them in his arms and never let go.

This, he realizes. This is what he can have for the rest of his life. How did he get this lucky? How come the gods decided that he with all his crimes is deserving of this? It might be proof the gods truly do not care about humanity. Or they have granted him a second chance, which he does not intend to waste.

He has refrained from kissing her again, fearful of slighting her honour. But he does not want to wait any longer, and he cannot resist leaning in to kiss her. After that it is all a blur, as he loses himself in her arms. Later, he will remember trying to give her the gentle wedding night she might have dreamed of as a girl, to erase any memory of their drunken first night. He sleeps peacefully for perhaps the first time in his life since Aerys, and wakes eager to greet the dawn with his wife.

With his eyes still closed he extends an arm to explore the other side of the bed, and meets nothing but sheets. He sits up and opens his eyes. Brienne is gone. No doubt attending to chores, the dutiful wench. She cannot even rest the morning after her wedding. He is disappointed, but shakes his head amusedly and dresses hurriedly for breakfast, resolving to go in search of her afterwards.

Sansa and Tyrion are eating already with Bran. “Where is your wife?” Tyrion asks “Still abed after – “ Sansa interrupts with a cough.

That keeps Tyrion silent for a time, but when Jaime begins whistling as he selects a pot of jam for his bread Tyrion opens his mouth again. “I presume from your demeanor, my dear brother, that last night went well.”

Jaime glares this time, but does not comment. “Have either of you seen Brienne this morning?” He asks instead.

They trade confused glances with each other. “No.” Sansa says flatly. “Did you not see her when you woke up?” A trace of concern in her voice.

Jaime looks at Bran. “Where is she?” He entreats, growing worried.

Bran looks back at him. “The nurse is coming,” he states.

The nurse is carrying Arthur, and Jaime asks her if she has seen Lady Brienne this morning. The nurse says no, but that she found milady’s ring on the babes wrist. She places it carefully on the table, before leaving to feed Arthur.

Everyone at the table leans forward to examine the ring, except Bran. Tyrion’s expression is contemplative before freezing in horror. Then he looks frantic, and races from the room before Jaime can question him. Sansa smiles coldly in satisfaction as comprehension dawns. It is that, more than anything, that makes Jaime realize what has happened. He freezes, a cold shiver racking his body. His vision blurs and his knees give out, collapsing him on the bench, the jam tipping over to crash on the tabletop.

In the background, Tyrion is organizing a search party, despite Sansa telling him it will do no good. Jam begins to drip onto his breeches. Jaime does not move. Selwyn Tarth comes in and shouts at him. Jaime does not react, and Selwyn leaves to join the search.

Jaime stays sitting in the dinning hall, staring at the jam pooling on the table as if it will magically unshatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you’ve probably intuited, this chapter is intended to show Jaime being an utter fool (also with as much tragic foreshadowing as I could cram in). I tried to contrast his thoughts and reasoning with Brienne’s in her chapters to show how wrong or naïve he is in his expectations.
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments – the reason this chapter was a bit delayed was I added the Brienne POV at the beginning after reading them.


	4. Chapter 4

The girl is running through the streets. She dashes around carts, and scoots through a narrow alleyway before pausing to listen for sounds of her pursuers. Suddenly, a hand lands with a solid thump on her shoulders. She jumps, then her shoulders slump as she recognizes the face attached to the hand.

“You’re IT!” Marie declares triumphantly. 

“Am I last?” She asks hopefully.

Other children come pouring out the alley. The biggest boy at the front looks around and says “I reckon so.”

“Then I win, Jory!” She says excitedly.

Jory rolls his eyes at her. “New game?” He inquires.

“Can’t. Going down to the docks.” She replies.

“I’ll come with you, Ally.” Marie says. Marie likes to watch the ships come into harbour. Her father is off sailing one.

Alysanne glances nervously around, scared that her mother might be nearby. Her mother is not to be trifled with. She is somewhere, guarding or training someone important, but she very specifically forbid Ally from going to the docks today (or any other day, really). She took out the big book of house pictures, pointed the big lion and asked which one that was.

House Lan-nis-ter, Ally had replied proudly. She is good at learning all the houses. She can read okay, but she loves looking at pictures. Sig-what is it her mother calls them?

“That’s right,” her mother had said. “A Lannister ship docks tomorrow, and you are not to go near it, you understand? I still have a few months left on the Iron Bank contract, or we’d leave tonight.”

“Are they chasing us, mama?” Ally had asked. When she was younger (she can barely remember) they moved around. Her mother says she was born in Pentos, then they travelled up the coast to Braavos. She does remember riding through the waving grass with the Dothraki, and playing with the other children. 

“They won’t harm you, child. But they might be looking for me, yes. I didn’t think the Iron Bank would let them in Braavos.”

“Because Westeros is a bad investment?” She parrots the words Jory’s father told him.

Mama sighs. “It’s more complicated than that, love. But you must promise to stay away from them, and from any lions.”

She’d agreed in the night, but now she is curious and mother will (hopefully) – she glances around again - never find out. She just wants a look. A scouting mission – know your enemy, as her mother says.

They hide behind some barrels, watching the men in their fine red and gold disembark. The plates of metal shine and clank when they move, and Ally is fascinated by it.

Then she is grasped by her collar and lifted out from behind the barrels. She swings wildly and yells at Marie to run, throwing the man off balance just enough that his grab for Marie misses and she disappears into the crowd.

She is deposited atop the barrel, eye level with the man. He swaps the hand on her jerkin and blinks at the black marks on it. She dyed her golden hair with soot to be less noticeable.

“What have you got there, Bronn?” The new man is short – very short. He wears a red tunic of extremely fine cloth, and a golden bauble is pinned proudly to his chest. The man holding her is dressed in leather, not metal, more like the essosi mercenaries she is used to – that’s why she didn’t spot him.

“A little spy.” He chuckles, shaking her. She flushes with anger. Both peer at her.

He wide blue gaze stares back at them, panicking at being caught.

She could try stabbing them – she received a knife for her fourth birthday, with strict safety instructions. She played with it anyway, and carved a gash out of her arm. Mother had dragged to the apothecary, and given her the angriest scolding she’d ever gotten after. Then handed her back the knife. She hasn’t cut herself since.

Instead, she opts for the tried and true method of kicking Bronn directly between the legs. He drops her instantly, cursing loudly, and she jumps off the barrel, hitting the ground running. She hears the shouts of pursuit, but knows the clumsy westerosi will never find her in the maze of streets.

She heads home, checks on Marie, and then spends the rest of the day rinsing the charcoal from her hair. When mother arrives, she is sitting at the table pouring over the book of Westeros Houses.

Mother kisses her absently on the top of her head, and starts making dinner. Ally waits until she has finished before speaking.

“Mama? I have something to tell you.” Ally doesn’t want to tell mother anything about today, and disobeying her orders. But she got caught, and the men looked at her funny, and now she is scared, and needs mother to reassure her.

Mother turns to look down at her. She is the tallest woman Ally has ever seen. When she grows up, she hopes she will be as tall. She must see the guilty expression on her face. “You went to the docks, didn’t you? What did I tell you?”

How does mother always know? Ally sighs. “I only wanted to look, but “ the whole story comes pouring out. When she is finished her mother ladles a bowl of soup for Ally and plunks a spoon in it.

“Eat quickly Ally. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” She begins to pack their things.

Ally protests in despair. “Why do we have to leave? Why can’t you make them leave? It’s not fair! What about your contract?”

Mother raises a warning hand. “We must leave until their business is complete. I’ll square my contract with the iron bank in the morning – they won’t mind a few weeks off if I work a few extra weeks at the end.” She jerks her head towards the bowl. “Eat your soup, so you can pack tonight.”

“I thought we were going to Westeros once the contract was complete! Isn’t that where the Lan-nis-ters are from?” Ally wails.

Her mother gives her a stern look, the one that means no more questions. Ally is eating her soup in misery when a loud knock sounds on the door. Her mother freezes. Ally moves to open it, and is surprised when mother stops her.

\-------------------------------------------------

Brienne knew something was wrong the moment she came in the door and saw Ally sitting so quietly. Her daughter does not like to remain still, or silent. Ally is stubborn, and willful, and she might believe Ally is all Jaime if she didn’t remember what she was like before her mother died, her Septa came, and she was forced into skirts. Ally owns one skirt; which Ally chose herself for it’s poufiness. She likes to twirl in it. Her daughter has rarely been forced into anything, except perhaps eating her vegetables.

She is unsurprised to find Tyrion at the door, despite her hope that one of her neighbours has come borrowing.

“Hello, Brienne. May I come in?” He does not wait for a reply, and footsteps echo across the wooden floor. Ally freezes. 

“Have a seat, make yourselves at home. Then tell me what you want, Tyrion, and get out.” Tyrion is Brienne’s favorite of Jaime’s siblings, which isn’t saying much. He shares the Lannister traits of poor decisions, thinking too much of his own cleverness, and caring only about his immediate family. In this case, however, she supposes he has a right to barge in.

Tyrion ignores her. “I must admit, I never thought I’d find you in Braavos, but I inquired anyways; low and behold, you are here. You should have stayed more inconspicuous.”

“Couldn’t trouble you for a bowl of soup, could I?” Bronn is investigating her soup pot. A saucepan clatters.

“No.” Brienne says. “What do you want?”

“He misses you, you know. Very much. Do you know what you did to him when you left? I suppose you must.”

“I did what I thought was best for myself, Tyrion. You cannot begrudge me that.” Brienne says firmly. “I doubt Jaime suffers overmuch. I ensured they would both be well provided for.”

“Yes, he does suffers. He’s still on Tarth, still refusing to get your marriage annulled. Says there’s no point to that, even if you are never coming back.”

Tyrion glances at Ally, who is glaring furiously at him. “She is Jaime’s, then?” The wonder in his voice turns to fury. “How dare you! How dare you keep his daughter from him. Do you know what he went through? Do you know how long we have been searching for you?”

Brienne chuckles in response. “Ally and I were to visit Tarth in a few weeks. How fortuitous that you arrived to ruin my plans. And what did you expect would come of forcing me into a marriage? And why would he want another child when he already has an heir by _her_, and Tarth?”

Tyrion’s voice is full of rage. “You know full well he wanted nothing more than you, and starting a family with you would have been a dream come true.“

Brienne does know that. She decided not to care. “If he wanted nothing more than me, he would not have missed his chance years ago.”

“You may tell you brother that I am safe, happy, and content without him. He need not mourn me, nor fret about moving on.”

She has been with few men since she left Tarth. She didn’t love them, not as she did Jaime, but they were good, and kind. She has her work, a network of friends to visit across Essos, and no pressing need for more children (one Ally is enough of a handful). She always imagined that once Ally was grown they’d go see Westeros, and Jaime. But she does not appreciate Tyrion’s attitude. 

“Leave, Tyrion. I will not ask again.” Her hand goes to her sword hilt. The golden lion was sold long ago, but the blade remains.

Tyrion sighs. As he exits he looks towards them “I will be back.” He warns.

\-----------------------------------

Once the bad men leave, mother gathers her up in a hug, and holds her until she squirms, wanting to be put down. She leaps eagerly for the bowl of soup she abandoned, but pauses at the expression on her mother’s face. “Mama? What’s wrong? They left.”

Her mother shakes her head. “You grow more perceptive each day.” She sighs. “I was going to take you to Tarth soon, you know.”

“I know,” Ally says. “We’d meet my grandfather, and Sansa, and Podrick and … “ She forgets all the names.

“And your father.” Mother finishes. “Would you have preferred it?” She asks.

“Preferred what?” Ally responds, confused.

“Growing up on Tarth. You know, where I’m from. With a father.” She glances sideways for a moment. “You’d have been raised in luxury, as a lady.”

“A lady?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Like Lady Lilith?” She hates Lily, whom her mother sometimes escorts because Lily’s father does not trust male guards. Lily is useless and cruel. She does not want to be her, or live in a palace she cannot leave, always surrounded by people.

“Technically, you have more noble blood in you than she does.” Her mother comments.

“No!” She exclaims in horror. She hastens to reassure her mother. “I like Braavos. I like playing in the streets, and my water dancing lessons, and the horseback riding lessons from Rhoquo. I love our apartment, and I don’t want a castle. There’d be to much empty space.”

“And your father?” Her mother asks carefully. “You wouldn’t want to meet him?”

She considers that carefully. “Fell’s father is always drunk. Jory’s father lives with them, but he never sees him because he is always working. Marie’s father lives out at sea. Even Lady Lilith’s is so rude.”

Then she thinks. “I suppose Cass’s father isn’t bad.” Cass’s father is a shoemaker. “He picked me up and spun me around. It was fun. But you can do that. Besides, I’m sure you left for a good reason. What do I need a father for?”

“I am less sure of that. Perhaps you don’t want one because you don’t know what you are missing.” Mother sighs. “I suppose we’ll go visit him and you can decide for yourself.”

“Even if it’s what _they _want?” Ally asks.

“You can’t base all your decisions off irritating other people, Ally.” Her mother scolds.

Ally grins mischievously. “It’s more fun that way!” She pauses, getting an idea. “We don’t need to _tell _Tyrion.” She says helpfully.

He mother laughs ruefully. “Off to bed with you now, I’ll read you a story.”

The next few weeks are the same as usual, only her mother does not allow her out of sight. When she has to work, she is left with Cass’s father. They sit on the floor of the shop and helps him sew. She isn’t very good at it, but he is very patient. Sometimes she thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, having one, if her father is like him. But she doesn’t really want one. One parent is enough of a handful.

Tyrion has not reappeared in the apartment, but she knows he has been bothering her mother at work. He shows up to sword fighting lessons once. She gets them from the first sword of Braavos in exchange for her mother training him in Westerosi techniques. Tyrion doesn’t say anything to her, but mutters something to Bronn about ‘reborn’.

When the Lannister ship finally sets sail, they are both relieved. They go out to dinner to celebrate, and sleep soundly that night. Her mother decides they will set sail to Tarth shortly. She is permitted to roam the streets with her friends again (as long as she stays with them).

It is then that disaster strikes. She is wandering along the shore with Marie and Cass, looking at the big ships, when suddenly her vision goes black as a bag is placed over her head. She struggles, kicking wildly at her assailants and lashing out with her knife. There is swearing, then a cloth is shoved over her mouth, and she falls unconscious.

When she wakes, she is tied to a chair in a small cabin. She glances around at the red and gold paint on the walls, and feels the rocking motion of the ship. She knows where she is, then. She waits for what feels like hours, until Tyrion enters with a tray of food.

He blinks to see she is awake. “My apologies, I had intended to be here to reassure you when you woke. I did not wish you to think you were aboard a slave vessel.”

The free cities take a very harsh line on slavers – no one inside the city has been taken in years. Despite the assortment of cutthroats roaming the streets Braavos is not pleased by slavers stealing its citizens; the demand for slaves is also vastly decreased since the Slave Cities were conquered by Daenerys Targaryen.

“This isn’t a slave vessel.” She says scornfully. “It’s too nice. Besides, it doesn’t smell.” Slave ships reek.

“You’ve been on a slave ship?” Tyrion seems shocked.

“Mother was liberating it.” She says proudly. “I helped." Mother made her spend the entire time out of the way in a dingy off the bow. "Where is mother? You know she’ll come after you.”

“That,” he says, “Is precisely what I am counting on. I left a note so she wouldn’t worry”

“She won’t worry. She’ll be _very _angry though.” Ally grins at the thought.

Tyrion pauses for a moment to sip some of his wine. “Do you know who I am?” He asks.

“You’re my uncle,” she responds.

He looks shocked, as if he’d hoped to astonish her with the news. “Your mother told you?”

“No. I looked it up in the book. You said my father’s name was Jaime and you have a brother named Jaime. It was _easy._”

Tyrion gazes at her, “You are so like him, you know?”

She realizes how much she has revealed to him, and hastily shuts her mouth. She glares at him furiously.

He chuckles at that, and she flushes red. He offers her food, which she takes because she is hungry and her mouth is dry. Belatedly, she thinks that if they wanted to poison her, they would have already.

The rest of the days on the boat pass slowly, untied but confined to the cabin. Tyrion tells her tales of his brother growing up, and of her half brother. She will meet them both when they arrive on Tarth. Sometimes Bronn comes in and asks if she is bored, and she stubbornly shakes her head. She can’t admit that to the man who kidnapped her.

She does agree to play cards with Tyrion sometimes. Her mother never let her, and she feels guilty each time. She also loses each time. She wins once by accident, is furious with herself at the pride in his eyes, and his effusive praise. She makes sure never to win again, even when she knows she could.

Sometimes she forgets her vow of silence, and opens her mouth. It’s so hard to remember, and she is so bored. Once he says something particularly offensive about her mother.

“Someday, I won’t be in chains, you know. And someday, I’ll be bigger than you. I’ll be as tall as mother, and better with a sword.” She vows.

“You sound like a proper Lannister now.” He laughs at her threat. Bronn does not. The next day, she is taken out for a walk around the deck to “Work out some of that aggression.”

Days later, she is marched out on deck again, her wrists chained together. The sailors raise their eyebrows at the foolish lords who bother to chain a little girl.

In the distance, a green island overlooks the sapphire sea. It must be Tarth, her homeland. It doesn’t feel like home. She looks at the small fishing and larger trading vessels clustered in the harbour. They are the same as Braavos. If she stows away on one, perhaps they will go to Braavos? But mother will be looking for her here, so here she must stay.

Tyrion walks down the gangway first, returning a few minutes later to walk her down. She is brought to a halt in front of a man and a boy. The boy looks to be her age. He ducks his head shyly when she looks at him, and clutches a book tighter to his chest. The man is tall, almost as tall as mother. He has a greying beard, and he gazes at her as if she is something precious.

He kneels down so he can look her in the eye, and smiles at her as if he hasn’t done it properly in years. The laugh lines on his face move, transforming it into openness. Ally supresses the urge to smile back.

“Hello Alysanne,” He says softly. “It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Jaime. I’m - “ his voice breaks, and he swallows, the bump on his throat moving. “I’m your father.” He extends his hand to her.

She looks at it. “I don’t care.” His face twists queerly at that, and she has the oddest feeling he is fighting back tears. She steps back, away from him.

A curse bursts out of her as the manacles tangle around her feet and she trips over an uneven cobblestone. Ally falls and scraps her knees and palms. She lies on the ground trying not to cry with pain and humiliation. She lets out another curse, one she heard a sailor say.

“Father says not to swear.” Green eyes blink down at her.

Mother told her not to swear as well, but she won’t admit that. She struggles to her feet and looks at the little boy, in his fancy clothes, clutching his father’s hand. She is pleased to find she is talller than him. “Shit, … “ She utters every swear word she knows, and Bronn probably made up. If she’s a nuisance, they won’t want to keep her.

Throughout it all, the man claiming to be her father just stares at her. He looks as if he cannot quite believe she is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aly is a bit precocious, but I don’t know - I’ve met some petty intelligent kids.
> 
> Tyrion not being very sympathetic towards Brienne here based more on book Tyrion, and he’d probably be quite angry at her for hurting his brother. Tyrion evidently cares a lot more short-sightedly about family than Brienne (a.k.a the epically stupid decision to free his brother that effectively got Jaime killed and the preceding conversation with no mention of Brienne). Also that other weird conversation he had with Jaime. Did they get a teenage boy to write all of Tyrion’s dialogue and plans for the past few seasons? Actually, most teenage boys I’ve interacted with could (and would) write far less juvenile dialogue, and more cunning plans.


	5. Chapter 5

The girl is not what he dreamed of, in the lonely nights before his wedding. Nor is she what he pictured in the scant moments between his brother informing him of her existence, and her appearance on the dock.

Raised by Brienne, he’d assumed she must be like her mother. Shy, quiet and stubborn. He got one of the three right. Her rejection stung bitterly, and for a moment he’d been waking up to an empty bed as the saddest morning followed the happiest night of his life. He’d had to fight back tears. After all, the little girl isn’t crying.

His daughter is standing on the dock, a wild thing screaming in captivity. Blood runs down her knees, but she is fighting back tears with the shear force of her fury. Instead, she yells obscenities at Arthur, who stares at his father, uncomprehending of the words and the strange girl his uncle brought home. He cannot imagine Brienne allowing her daughter to learn such things; yet here she is.

Ally finishes her tirade, rubs furiously at her eyes, and adjusts her manacles daintily, like a princess with golden bracelets, asking to be escorted to the dungeons. Good Lord! Why did his brother manacle a child? Is she that dangerous? Then she lashes out, cracking the chain across Bronn’s shins, who was laughing heartily at her misfortune. He stumbles backwards, and a comic expression appears on his face as he teeters on the edge of the dock, arms windmilling. Ally provides an extra push, and he falls into the water with a loud crash.

Jaime would dearly like to push Bronn off the docks himself (or something a bit higher), but the shove knocked his daughter off kilter, and now she tumbles into the water. He jumps without thinking, the cold water briefly shocking him as he impacts the surface.

Ally is struggling to swim, the chains weighing her down. He loops his stump under her arms, and kicks towards shore. As he struggles through the shallows, Tyrion and Arthur wait on shore. Bronn brushes past him and stalks off. Arthur runs into the water and wraps himself around Jaime’s legs, almost knocking him over. Jaime strokes the top of his head, reassuring him “It’s okay buddy, we’re fine.”

Ally abruptly struggles in his arms, and Jaime places her down next to Arthur, whom he picks up, noticing that his book has been soaked. He’ll be upset about that later. Arthur has always been shy, and bookish. He can probably read better than Jaime now. He loves his uncle Tyrion, who always brings him presents (usually books), and he loved all Lord Selwyn’s tall tales.

Jaime walks the last steps out of the water, watching Ally to ensure she doesn’t stumble again (she rejected his steadying hand). Finally, he stands before Tyrion, droplets of water running off him onto the beach.

“Tyrion, what the hell were you thinking?!” Jaime is furious, wet, and cold. “This … this is not helping. This is the opposite of helping! What exactly did you imagine Brienne’s reaction to this would be?”

“I thought you had the right to meet your daughter.” Tyrion says meekly.

“So, you kidnapped her. And chained her; you better have the keys by the way.” Tyrion produces the keys and attempts to unchain Ally, who raises her head proudly.

“Am I no longer a prisoner, then? Because if I am a prisoner, you’d better chain me.” She rattles the chains, looking pleased at the sound they make. 

Jaime gets the sense that she may be proud of the fact that she managed to terrify grown men into taking her seriously enough that they decided to tie her up. He rather suspects she regards the chains as a mark of honour, and would have been disappointed to be treated with luxury. He also notes that she has inherited the Lannister taste for melodrama. 

He takes the keys from his brother, and crouches beside her. “You are not going to be held prisoner” he directs a firm look at his brother “Tyrion should not have kidnapped you, and I intend to right that immediately. Might I offer you the hospitality of Evenhall until such time as Brienne returns? Then we can discuss where you wish to go next”

Ally looks hesitant, but nods slowly, and allows him to unlock her chains. Once she is freed Jaime rounds on Tyrion.

“Tyrion how do I put this politely? Get the fuck off my Island.”

Arthur looks shocked at this language from his normally soft spoken (at least when he is nearby) father. Ally looks rather pleased, and sticks out her tongue at Tyrion. 

“I’m your brother.” Tyrion protests.

“Then perhaps I ask this for your own safety. Brienne is like to want to murder you at the moment. I’m of the same mind at the moment, actually.” Jaime glares. “Stop meddling in my life, Tyrion. Don’t try the next clever plan that comes into your head. I am going to try and repair this, and I don’t want your help with it. I want you to leave.”

Tyrion leaves. Jaime hollers at him to take Bronn, too.

Then he turns to the two bedraggled children, still standing on the beach. “Come on.” He sighs. “Let’s go find a hot meal.” He extends a hand and a stump to each of them.

Arthur takes it. Ally does not.

\--------------------------------

His children get on like a house on fire, which is to say explosively disrupting to everyone in the nearby vicinity. Arthur is unsure of this invader of his territory, and Ally persists in annoying him by attempting to drag him outside to play with her. Matters are made worse when Sansa sends a beautifully sewn blue jerkin for Ally, and suddenly the green one Arthur received for his last birthday is not sufficient; he needs a blue one too.

Jaime ends up interceding in most of the fights, which usually involves hauling one or the other of them outside to spar or ride. At first Ally refuses to spar (mostly to irritate him), but eventually her desire to fight wins out.

The servants laugh and tell tales of their own siblings, or children, and Jaime realizes that this is apparently normal. He cannot remember arguments with his siblings as a child, merely cold words and hatred. After that, he leaves them to work out their own issues more. To his surprise, it seems to lead to occasional moments of friendship before the next war breaks out. 

Ally hasn’t tried to escape yet. Jaime wonders; where could a six-year-old run, and what would happen to her? He worries each time she is late for dinner.

One day, she does not come at all and he find her by the cliffs, watching for ships. She looks at the worry on his face curiously.

“Why did my mother leave you?” she asks accusingly, but her face is puzzled.

Jaime sits down. “Have you finally decided I am not a monster? And now you wonder what compelled the honorable Brienne of Tarth to leave her lawfully wedded husband?” He is harsher than he planned. Although, from what he knows of the girl, she doesn't respond well to honeyed words.

Jaime sighs, and runs his hand over his beard. “I betrayed her. I left her to try and save another woman – Arthur’s mother.” Jaime has not entertained other women since Brienne left. He never really felt the urge.

“So she left you. Fair’s fair.” She nods with satisfaction and a child’s sense of justice. “Will she stay when she comes back?”

“I don’t know. I hope she does.” He says sadly. “Would you like to stay? You are always welcome here, even if your mother does not stay.”

“Why would I stay if she didn’t?” She sounds confused.

“I am your father, and I’d be happy to have you.”

She frowns.

\----------------------------

Brienne arrives one day.

He walks the cliffs every morning, looking for boats entering the harbour. Wondering if Brienne is aboard. One morning, she is standing on the edge, staring at the sunrise. She must have taken a smuggling vessel, and he is surprised, even after a month with Ally, that his honorable wife would consort with such people.

She turns to face him, and he is struck by the beauty of her eyes in the light. A little older, with more lines on her face. She stands straight, he notices. No slouching. But still Brienne, he can tell by the stubborn tilt of her chin. Is she still angry?

The wind whistles before he speaks. “You came back.”

“I came back.” She echoes. “Arthur seems like a nice child - you did well raising him. And when I spoke with her, Ally seemed to still be Ally.”

He shifts uncomfortably at the knowledge that she somehow snuck onto Tarth, and stayed hidden from him for at time. That does not speak well for the Island’s security. He is relieved that she thinks Ally much the same; he’d worried about the any effects of her capture.

“I had no part in Ally being brought here.” He says.

“If I thought you did, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. Where are Tyrion and Bronn, by the way?” Her teeth glint threateningly when she smiles.

“I kicked them off the Island.” Jaime responds.

“Over a cliff first, I hope?” Still the same vicious wench then.

“Ally shoved Bronn off the docks. I’m also fairly confident that she bit Tyrion at least twice.”

“And you banned them from Tarth?”

“Yes. I’ve also banned Lannister ships from watering or trading here.” Most of Tarth’s power lies in trade. It was the best punishment he could exact, short of violence against his own brother. 

“Good.” She nods. “I might have a friend pay a visit to Casterly Rock soon. Give them both a good scare.”

He nods as well. Then he asks the question he has been wanting to ask for years. “Why did you leave?” He realizes the obvious response, and corrects his question. “Why did you not come back sooner or permit me to visit you? I deserved to know my child.”

“I left. I could not come crawling back. I was going to bring Ally to visit, before your brother _kidnapped _her.”

“Ah. You couldn’t bear the shame of marrying the Kingslayer?”

“Don’t use that as your excuse when anyone dislikes you, or thinks you dishonorable. Kingslaying was not the deed that bothered me.” There is no venom in her tone, only tiredness.

“I apologized.”

“Words are wind. You expected me to trust you after a mere apology.”

“What would I have to do to make you trust me again? How could I possible accomplish that when you weren’t here?” His voice rises on the last word.

“I don’t know. Time, I suppose.” She looks away from him again. 

“It’s been over five years. I stayed. I did my best by Tarth, and Arthur. I … I was not unfaithful to you.” He sighs. “How can I do more if you do not give me a chance? What must I do? Tell me Brienne, and I will do it.”

“I can’t forget.” She whispers softly.

“Can you try to forgive?” He does not wish to beg. “This marriage cannot work unless you try. Will you try? You can talk to me if you are upset.”

She looks over at him quietly. Then she pushes past him, striding towards Evenfall. She turns to face him when he does not follow. “Let's get some breakfast”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end.
> 
> It is meant to be fairly ambiguous how the relationship progresses from here; honestly the only plot point that I really wanted in the fic was Brienne leaving Jaime, or some other act of revenge. Taking Arthur, or cuckholding Jaime, or having another man’s child were also options. As it turns out, I am terrible at writing reconciliations. If anyone would like to write one, or a story where Brienne leaves Jaime (I didn’t find many) I’d absolutely love to read it! 
> 
> Make no mistake, I love it when they reconcile and end up together (that's why I ship them in the first place) and I love the fluffy fics, especially when I'm feeling down, but I wanted to switch up the dynamic of Brienne always being the one to forgive. 
> 
> Regardless of their future relationship, you can assume they work out a joint custody agreement of Ally and Arthur. Brienne still goes traveling. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that gave kudos or left a comment, it really inspired me to keep posting, and make some changes. 
> 
> Tyrion wasn't really intended to be the antagonist (not villain) at the start of this, but he did sort of warp into that. Tyrion (seasons 1 to 4 to 6ish) is one of my favorite characters, and book Tyrion is a lot less black and white than the "oh the poor souls of Kings Landing", I am not comfortable with breaking a few eggs to make this omelet guy. Season 7-8 Tyrion reminded me quite a lot of Ned Stark (who was a great character, but also a very different perspective from Tyrion) except his poor strategic decisions never quite caught up to him. This is perhaps my retroactive punishment for his enabling and failure to help Danerys with her mental health. I did make him have a relatively stupid plan as a plot crutch though, to give Brienne's return some more drama (sorry about that).


End file.
